


Sainthood and Other Afflictions

by jeza_red



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alfred-specific insanity, Gilbert being too old for this, God!Hunter just wants his humans to get along, M/M, Mentions of blood and gore, NSFW, sexytimes with many many limbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:57:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeza_red/pseuds/jeza_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to my established post-game universe where Yharnam is a holy city where the new God resides with his chosen Saints.<br/>And his chosen Saints have no issues with it - mostly. </p><p>Unless they have too much time on their hands and start to think about things...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sainthood and Other Afflictions

A storm raged over Yharnam and this time it was a big one.

Lead-coloured clouds hung low over the steep roofs and tall chimneys, washing the city in thick curtains of rain. The gutters were full and the streets lifeless, people hiding from the deluge in the warmth of their homes. Lightning flashed sporadically across the sky and thunder rolled majestically right after like a throaty growl of some great big beast awakening from slumber.

The Mass in the Grand Cathedral, however, remained undisturbed, Father Gascoigne had too much poise to be distracted by a few measly thunders. His voice enthralled the faithful and calmed them down amongst warm candlelight and the smell of sweet incense.

Truly, a man of God, Alfred mused with a dash of humour.

Missus Viola and the girls were there too, dutiful and pure angels.

He wasn’t attending the Mass, though, instead choosing to stand on a balcony above the chapel, mindless of the rain hitting him in the face and drenching him to the bone. The old him would freeze his nose off a long time ego, but nowadays it took much more than that to move him from the spot.

No, he stood his silent vigil, eyes locked on the dark Western sky, sweeping over the Cathedral Ward. He was waiting, ready. Just in case.

Agatha and Miss Iosefka were in the Healing Halls, taking care of the children and the sick. Eileen probably chose her spot for her own guarding duty, in a place strategically away from Alfred. They have resolved their differences a while ago and the solution was based on spending as much time apart as it was possible. So far it has worked great for everyone.

There was this additional sense they all seemed to have now - among many other additions - that made them aware of each other’s presence.

Well, most of them did - the one outlier was...

“Are you attempting to freeze to death, now?” A voice spoke behind his back and only years (well, decades, if one wished to be picky about it) of military discipline and newfound invulnerability made it possible for Alfred not to jump in place.

Instead he turned around with grace and an easy smile. Gilbert didn't smile back, but then again, he rarely did these days.

“From such light summer drizzle?” He asked with humor.

The accompanying lightning strike made them both flinch and Alfred laughed awkwardly. Skies were not on his side, it seemed.  

Gilbert looked at him again like he wasn’t sure of his humanity. He often looked at him like that, the days of easy camaraderie between them were long gone, because how could a man be friendly with a rabid animal? 

“Come inside,” the man in question said with a sigh and pulled at Alfred's soaked sleeve. “Don't be daft.”

Alfred went because he was yet to find a way in which he could explain his current state without birthing new madness in Gilbert’s mind. It was easier to follow and stomp on his natural reactions that demanded him to tear at the arm that reached out to herd him like a sheep. Nowadays, he was allowed to be what he’s been made into, but this man still remained out of his reach.

The problem was that none of them was quite sure how much Sainthood flowed in Gilbert’s veins now. How much he was allowed to have if he was to keep his already precarious position.

 _Nothing much_ , Alfred thought bitterly, _just being the pillar on which their current reality rested_. Easy enough, anyone could do it if they’d only managed to stay sane enough.

Sometimes Alfred wanted to ask Gilbert about it, but he still remembered the vision of snakes being pulled out of his open chest and he simply didn’t dare. He strived to be careful with his master's brittle heart, no matter how tempting these thin wrists still were.

They crossed a short hallway and entered the room at the end of it. There was no door in Yharnam that could stop them and there was no places what wouldn't welcome the Saints with open arms. This one was a drawing room. It was brightly lit, fire in the massive fireplace raged joyously and a bouquet of lilies on the table by the wall made the place smell sweet.

In all the memories of his past lives nothing in the Upper Cathedral Ward have ever smelled this good.

“Here,” Gilbert pointed Alfred towards the sofa while he walked up to one of the decorative cupboards and pulled a folded up blanket out of the top drawer. Alfred wondered if the man knew about it being there or if the room knew that he needed it. “Sit by the fire and take your clothes off, you’re going to catch your death.”

Alfred bit his tongue and the words “ _I already did_ ” were left unspoken.

He already did, more than once, to be honest, but nowadays it was him that others had to be wary of chancing upon.

He didn’t say it, there was no point, Gilbert tried to make him a small kindness and a part of him was honestly grateful for it. He tried to keep up the appearances and the man was nothing, if not supportive of that.

So he took off the vest and shoes, methodically peeled off soaked layers of clothing and folded them all neatly on the nearby chair, so they could be taken by the servants later. He took his time while Gilbert stared into the fireplace, face bashfully facing the flames. Alfred wouldn’t reach for him more that he would attempt to remove his own liver, but he could still take his fun where it was possible. Gilbert wouldn’t swoon like some dainty lass, manly physique didn’t seem to impress him much - no, flesh would not make impression on someone who knows intimately how easily it rots - but he was still a decent person. And Alfred was anything, but.

The blanket was thick and soft, he wrapped it around himself after taking his fill, mercifully covering the most indecent parts.

“Here, drink this.”

A cup was presented to him, he took it with a thankful nod and inspected the liquid inside. Wine, from the looks of it, although the deep red colour brought forth some unfortunate connotations, making his mouth water briefly. His God provided him with sustenance now, but the taste of the bottled blood of the old dream has never left him and he had a feeling that if never will. The sour note of was is absent from the sweet nectar he partook in these days and he missed it against his will.

“It will warm you up,” Gilbert said, looking at him expectantly.

Alfred obediently sipped at the wine and discovered that it was actually quite palatable - full and gently spiced with ground herbs. Indeed, it lighted up a fire in his belly that quickly spread along his chilled limbs.

“You are too kind to me,” he said in good humor.

Gilbert only shrugged, “I know.”

One of the reasons he couldn't hate this man was his honesty -  and at the same time it was the thing he couldn’t stand in him the most. What was he supposed to read out of this? Did Gilbert know what he was saying, or was he just being coy?

The uncertainty made  it difficult for him to pick the right approach. He couldn’t be himself with this man, but whatever personae he dressed up in Gilbert seemed to disapprove of immediately. Nothing about Alfred impressed him and nothing seemed to scare him anymore - well, that wasn’t surprising, taking who he belonged to now… but Gilbert refused to react the way Alfred wanted him to, and it was quite frustrating.

“I am not trying to belittle you, I was jesting.”

No, he wasn't and they both knew it.

“Anyway, I will get someone to bring you fresh clothes,” and, as usual, he bowed of further conversation with that smooth English grace Alfred struggled to remember on most days like this one. “Stay here and warm up.”

In his annoyance, Alfred wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. “Shouldn't you be attending the Mass, my friend? I would expect to see you with the Gascoignes.”

Little Lottie adored him, and Alfred wasn’t surprised, the man was easy to adore. If he was able, he would probably love him in some substantial way, too, as his compatriot and a brother in arms. God knew that he will always be a better pick than Samuel.

“I went to the Mass, but I kept getting distracted,” Gilbert, instead of leaving, walked towards the window. It was even darker and windier outside, the storm seemed to be reaching its crescendo. “The weather isn't to my liking. I worry when he’s out there.”

Alfred stilled, the cup halfway to his lips, nerves suddenly tight. He cast a cautious look at the man and got a little tight smile in return. His hands tightened briefly and he stood up in one smooth motion, blanket falling down revealing a well cut black suit…

Damnit, he forgot himself!

But Gilbert didn’t even blink at the way the reality wavered in front of him.

“You thought I didn’t know?” He asked calmly. “I am not blind, neither am I stupid, I am aware that he’s more than a human. That right now he’s out there fighting some otherworldly monstrosity.”

Alfred didn’t know what to do, how to react. A part of him wanted to start asking questions, while a part of him wanted to smother the man until he fell unconscious and stopped where he was with his divagations - to save his Lord from losing him yet again. And then a part of him wondered if he could finally grasp these thin hands without fear of them breaking right away.

“Did he tell you?” He managed to ask. Because that was the important part, that would point the path he has to follow now. If the Hunter told his chosen one about everything, he was absolved from guilt of mentioning it, if not… then Alfred will find the person responsible and drag them into Hell himself. 

“Alfred.” A patient look was sent his way. “I just told you that I am not stupid.”

And that, once again, gave him nothing.

“You are infuriating, my dear,” Alfred said, stepping closer to the window, hands neatly clasped behind his back, teeth on display. He guessed he can do it now that the man understood what he’s dealing with. 

Gilbert didn’t smile back. “I know, and you are frustrating me to no end,” he said. Alfred loomed over him, but he took it in stride. One of his hands rested on the surprised blond’s arm, gentle like a landing butterfly. “I wish you were more… I wish I knew how to deal with you now. That you were either a beast or man, not that thing in between.”

That… was an understandable sentiment, at least, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. “I can be more human for you,” he offered. 

But that proposition was met, shockingly, with a degree of mute horror that widened Gilbert's eyes and pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line.

“God.” A trembling hand landed on his cheek. “I wish you’d understand what has been done to you.”

Gilbert’s eyes were brown and sad, his touch was soft and tender, and Alfred felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up. His spine stiffened and his heartbeat picked up. It was like fear, the feeling that rushed through his veins, it caused his hands to  sweat and the blood to escape his face.

Pity? Was it pity? He wasn't used to it; even Eileen had only distaste for him, even Gascoigne’s looks hid only thinly veiled anger.

Or was this that other thing he left behind? The softness, the gentleness… things he could not reflect. He could pretend to be kind, to be caring, to be good, even, he could put on any mask necessary for others to ignore the beast peeking out from under his clothes. But he could not do this, not anymore.

It would be easy to tear a hole in this man’s stomach, to bite through his lips to the tongue behind, to open up his ribcage like a treasure chest and root inside for the warm, wet trinkets...

Gilbert’s thumb stroked over his cheekbone and Alfred flinched back like a struck dog, stomach raising up to his throat. This… this wasn't to his liking!

“Oh,” Gilbert mumbled, quite startled by the sudden move. “I’m sorry, I…”

The lightning struck the spire on the top of the Cathedral with a deafening boom, causing the walls shake and the lights to dim. Both men jumped, both almost ran out of the room - one wanting to join the fight, the other to make sure that all of their God’s children are unharmed.

It’s just that, he door wasn't there when they turned - just a smooth expanse covered in tasteful wallpaper. As one, they turned back around, already knowing what will await them.

The God was a shadow, hiding and half-merged with the darkness gathering in the corner of the room. It churned and twisted on itself, it suggested shapes and horrors, and rustled with the sound of snakes sliding against each other, of slick things gliding across the floor and walls. A figure could be seen in that tangle, the shape of a shoulder, a gleam of the silver faceplate, going in and out of focus like the stars when one looked at them for too long.

Alfred moved forward without thinking, reaching out to keep his Lord from falling back, to pull him fully into their world; he’s made a step and his arms went up, but he was held up by a hand firmly grasping his shoulder.

“No,” Gilbert said, looking alarmed. “Look what you’re doing!”

He looked and _oh_. The shapes in the darkness hissed and boiled, they sharpened and took on new angles, claws tore their way out of nothingness, digging violent grooves in the marble and wood. The Hunter hunched down - the whole of him, it felt like, even the parts that weren’t there - and tore at his human trappings with shaking hands.

Just like Alfred wanted to do.

He forgot himself again.

“He doesn't need that now. Stay away.”

 _Does he need you, then_ , he wanted to ask, derisive tone already pushing at this larynx. Jealousy was such a common thing, such a disgraceful emotion.

The answer to his question was clear anyway, when Gilbert walked forward and with every step he took the angles and sharp points smoothed out, the discordant buzzing quietened. The aura of danger dispersed along with the shadows.

Gilbert stopped in front of a God who was still two heads taller than him, but at least now had only four limbs. 

“Don't hide from me,” he said gently, reaching up to push the faceplate away, into nonexistence, baring the chalk-white face and off-coloured eyes that looked at him in blissful relief. “That’s better, isn't it?”

Alfred stared. Forgotten in his corner, he looked at the scene, mouth dry and heart thrashing in his chest. He’s never seen… them, together. Never seen _this_ \- the unflinching way in which the frail man gentled down a God. The way a God allowed himself to be pulled down from the heights of bloody victory into a pair of arms that barely closed the embrace behind his back…

Was he always so big with Gilbert? Was he turning himself smaller with Alfred only to make manhandling him easier?

“Was the fight worth winning?” 

The Hunter breathed into the man’s hair and his presence seemed to wrap possessively around him. “Yes,” his voice was still all over the place, but it was more or less legible. “It was, but I need soothing.”

A dark eyebrow went up. “Oh, do you, now?”

“Yes,” the Hunter nodded in full seriousness, yet some layers of his voice echoed needy whimpers. “I need to be kissed better.”

A palm on his mouth stopped his advance. “Teeth,” Gilbert reminded him sternly, like a proper good teacher scolding an unruly pupil. Alfred wanted to hit him for the sheer audacity.

However, the Hunter seemed to be alright with being reprimanded, he took it in stride and even smiled against the fingers touching his lips - and then nibbled at them, teeth proper and even, and only twenty four. “That’s better?”

Gilbert flushed all the way up to his ears - Alfred could have sworn that a cautious look was town in his general direction - and cleared his throat. “Much.”

 _(The reality warped around them and half of the room stopped existing, or more - half of the room was displaced and instead of decorative walls Alfred had a clear view on… the Other. Other was infinite and indescribable, stars exploded across it like fireworks, blinding and terrifying, and Alfred lost his sight for a moment._ )

The kiss started in the corner of Gilbert’s mouth, almost chaste, before he relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes, and the Hunter...

_(...split his mouth in half and rows of teeth spilled out, some bone-white, some lacquer-black, all glass-shard sharp and dripping with poison...)_

...licked at the seam of his lips, boldly demanding entry. It has been granted with no fuss.

Alfred never put much stock into the notion of pushing faces together, though he knew the technique and was a fairly passable kisser.

The Hunter was anything but. He licked into his lover's mouth, sealing their lips together, stealing every breath and swallowing every soft mutter brought on by his tender attentions, until he left Gilbert gasping for air, lips swollen-soft and reddened. Satisfied with that bit of work, the God smiled and moved his enterprise further, kissing the cheeks, the eyelids, the gently forming wrinkles between the man's eyebrows. Holding his head with careful hands, fingers combing through the brown curls, making them even more unruly that they usually were. He swept them aside, baring an ear in which he seemed to take an interest. Gilbert twitched and made a startled sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh when teeth closed around the tip of it and pulled.

“Stop,” he tried to sound stern - at least as stern as one can when their ear is enthusiastically gnawed upon - and twist his head away, but it was a lost cause, the break in his voice betrayed his enjoinment. “Come… now…!”

_(The rows of razors split apart and what was visible underneath had no name, but it was in constant movement, slick and glistening with viscous fluids, engorged colourless flesh of an inhuman sort. One snap it would take for the man to disappear, to be pulled apart until only atoms were left of him.)_

The gravity shifted, and they weren't standing anymore, the Hunter was all and everywhere, even if the human image was the most solid part of him. Pale like bone, visible, yet still soft at the edges. He encompassed his lover's form, holding him safe within his own presence.

Gilbert kept his eyes wisely closed, but the expression on his face was peaceful. He was not afraid as he cradled the Hunter’s head to his chest, hands sure and gentle as they stroked over the skin and tangled mousy hair. Such a proper gentleman, and yet he didn't seem to mind when narrow hips were snugly fitted between his thighs. Quite on the contrary, he welcomed the idea with a soft murmur of approval and eagerly spread his legs.

Thus accommodated, the Hunter went back to sampling his mate’s skin.

 _Mate_ , that strange word he used once when he tried to explain to Alfred the ways in which their species were similar. _They will all want children, they will all desire mates._ And in this one choice, the Hunter tangled both of these desires into a knot of denial to his own nature. This choice brought him closer to his weaker, mortal, ancestry, away from the greatness of Cosmos that expanded and devoured, and paid no mind to the price of it. He chose this man to seal his choice and the man didn’t seem to have an issue with it.

Quite on the contrary, he pushed into the caresses and gasped his way into the kisses. His skin flushed with blood and grew shiny with sweat as he allowed his clothes to be parted and slipped off, allowed them to fall away into nothingness, even as the eager hands caressed every uncovered inch of him.

The Hunter moved lower, lips never leaving skin, counting ribs on the way until they stopped at the flat expanse of taut stomach and bathed it in languid open-mouthed kisses. He nosed at the soft navel and nibbled at a protruding hipbone, birthing another startled chuckle. The chuckle turned into a long sigh of pleasure when inquisitive palms ran along the insides of slim thighs, from the knees up and back down again. Gilbert arched and hummed deeply in his throat every time they teased at the tender skin where the hips connected, only to fall back with a noise of disappointment when they retreated. He didn't seem to mind that there was more than one pair of hands. That some of them weren’t hands at all.

_(Boneless, slick appendages, bending whichever way, slipping alongside the man’s flanks and over his throat, lapping at the reddening skin, at the hardening flesh. Winding over his limbs to keep them open, spread welcomingly for the God above.)_

The Hunter nuzzled his lover’s chest and nipped at the hard pebbles of his nipples, only to sooth them right after with affectionate licks, before attacking again. Gilbert didn’t moan loudly, he was apparently the quiet sort, but his gasps deepened and his hands scrambled for a hold over the Hunter’s shoulders. He raised his knees when the friction between his thighs grew, and pulled them tighter together - either trying to stop, or to encourage it.

“Love,” the God whispered into the soft flesh under his chin. “Can I?”

Alfred, confused for a moment, almost didn’t understand the plea. But the suggestive press of his hips, the startled whimper that escaped the frail man were enough of a clue.

“Yes…” Gilbert muttered, blindly seeking for contact. “Yes, please…”

The Hunter smiled, and…

_(The flesh was dark and Alfred closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see this. He didn't want to see this. The moment when writhing appendages merged into something more, something hard and pulsing and **eager**...)_

Gilbert released a sound akin to a prolonged mewl, his spine arched back and his knees fell open. For a moment he couldn’t seem to breathe, until the Hunter was fully settled and the feeling of intrusion gentled.

“Darling.... alright?” The God asked, caressing his lover’s face with tender hands, kissing his lips and eyelids.

“Yes… yes…” Gilbert panted, clinging to the Hunter like he was afraid of falling. “Gods… oh gods… only… strange…”

“What is?” Pale hands stroked over his thighs and stomach, smoothing out the tension and chasing away any trace of discomfort.

“You’ve made my body strange… to take you in so readily… like a woman…”

“Ah, you think so?” A kiss to the temple. “Maybe it’s my flesh that’s strange… to treat you so.” A slow, fluid press of the hips answered with a resounding moan. “As for the femininity of our little endeavour, I doubt that I could push your body so far, since this,” another languid thrust that provided the flesh trapped between them with delicious friction, “is rather the point.”

A smooth talker, their God was, Alfred thought briefly. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

“Ah, aren't you… smooth like cream?“ Gilbert mused, winding his arms around the God's neck and pulling him in for another kiss. “Come, no more stalling, take what you need. Let me soothe you, my Hunter…”

A deep rumble shook the Other, a sound of a planet breaking apart, but an irreversibly pleased one. A reaction to the permission or to the possessiveness in the man’s words - it was hard to tell when the world started to move. Slow undulations building up a steady rhythm reflected in the way Gilbert’s body tensed and relaxed.

Alfred wished to look away, but there was nowhere to turn to, whenever he looked, the spectacle followed, he could not escape it. Was he a prisoner? What was the reason his Lord showed him this?

“ _Because, you wanted to see.”_ The voice went through him like a current, a feeling, the Other - the way his god spoke to him when he could not form human sounds. Bypassing the ears and sending the meanings straight to the brain. _“You wished to understand.”_

Alfred reeled, as usual when his deepest thoughts were dug up and pulled into the light, dispersing any kind of denial he could’ve mustered up. _“Don't fight me, child, I can see underneath your masks.”_ A gentle admonishment that had him bow his head in shame nonetheless. “ _There, now, come closer and see._ ”

Gilbert gasped softly and the sound was suddenly closer than before. Alfred fought the vertigo before he realised that it wasn’t his vision that went white - it was just an expanse of pale skin he was staring at from up close. Smooth and warm under his fingers - all of his fingers, and there was so many more of them than he was used to, - amongst all these other things. He could taste it with touch alone and the sensation was startling. He could feel the life pulsing under the skin, blood rushing from one end to another, singing the most alluring of songs… The heat was enticing; inside of the human body, burning like a furnace against his own chilled skin.

He gasped, overwhelmed, and gentle fingers combed through his - not his - hair. A calming touch, a single point of reference in the chaos that tried to overrun his mind…

“ _Shh_ ,” lips mouthed against his forehead and for one short moment he dared to look up, to see the bliss on the face of his Lord’s lover.

And he went blind.

Panic seized him for a heartbeat before something _moved inside of him_ and all of his thoughts were forced out of his head by the wave of pleasure it has caused. 

Oh, so… oh gods… his points of view were switched, just like that, and now he was on the other side of this thin skin. He was underneath, cradled by innumerable limbs, caressed from the inside out, filled and protected in the safest place this world had to offer.

Like s spooked animal, he almost ran head-first into the bars of this new prison, only to discover that the metal was yielding and soft, and it scared him even more the he wasn’t trapped at all. He wasn’t forced. He was just - held.

“ _Ah, what?_ ” A thought not his own shot through his mind. Bewilderment pushed at the pleasure for a moment - then a sudden understanding and resigned acceptance took its place. Then, in reaction to his distress, came a whisper, “ _Come here_.” Like a warm hand cradling a small bird, not caring for his sharp edges that bit and fought to be released.

Gilbert accepted his presence with naught, but the smallest of sighs. “ _Settle down, you noisy thing._ ” Warm. He could feel his - not his - lips bowing in a smile and that was even worse than the strange sensation of slick wetness around his nipple. But not as bad as the unending movement between his legs - that came with no pain to pay it off.

That thought echoed in the sudden stillness of his - not his - mind. “ _Oh, dear_.”

How can you do this? He wanted to ask. How can you stand it? Do you know what he’s doing to you?

“ _Shhh…”_ Soft. So damnably soft. “ _Settle down. Quiet now. Shh...”_

Sensations came at him from all directions, what has been done to the body and how it reacted. He curled up into the corner of his cage and watched, trying to assimilate a shred of this experience, but his skin prickled with distress, his eyes watered and he couldn’t…

He used to tell himself that he could do it for him, for his Lord. That he would be able to lie underneath him, to spread his legs and let him do as he wished. He thought he would know how to pretend willing submission with enough grace to fool even a God. The idea that the Hunter thought him unfit for this of all things was terrible and humiliating…Until now.

Because, Alfred would never let it happen like that. He would have to be pushed down and fought until his body gave out - and the Hunter would do it only to appease _him_ , not for himself. Because he wanted to be good for his humans, even if some of them were used to being - _used_.

He would playact for them, but Alfred could not do the same for him.

The motion of the dream picked up; Alfred curled away from the heat languidly spilling across his body, from the choked up gasps and the pleasure radiating from a place inside that the God pushed against. It was amazing. It was terrifying. In his entire life he had never been so scared.

“ _Shhh…_ ” Soft. Understanding. “ _That's enough… let him go.”_

Gilbert arched his back to the near-breaking point. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, but the Hunter covered them with a hand, keeping the man safe from seeing how the world shatters to pieces around him. Alfred was free from feeling it first-hand, but he still choked on his breath when the stars started to fall from the sky leaving sickly green tails of dying fire.

Maybe his Lord didn’t have mental capacity left to send him away - seeing that he struggled to even hold on to his form. His presence spilled beyond the human wraps. The man trapped in the centre of it mewled louder with every breath forced out of him, fingers clenched on translucent hair, lips open and wet.

“ _My hunter…_ ” His voice echoed inside of the Other, strangled and deep. “ _My hunter…!_ ”

He was devoured and he was venerated - until he became the part of the Other - and the Other nestled under his ribs, inside of the warm fleshy cradle, where it belonged. Where it was safe.

Alfred, shielding his face from the glare of the dream shaking itself apart, understood. When he was with the Hunter, he clawed and struggled, and bit, trying to tear his God apart and bury himself in his innards, to taste his blood, safe in the awareness that he won't ever be pushed away.

Until this moment it just never occurred to him that the God would want the same.

 _Safety_. _Understanding. Soft and calm and soothing..._   

He shivered, in pain and regret, and the world boiled over and he was caught in the storm.

 

***

 

He came to, slumped against the outside wall of the Ward. His bones ached; his knees trembled like he was a newborn colt. He felt as if someone turned him inside out and then pulled back. Then some gentle hand carefully set all his organs into their rightful places - he could still feel its caring touch on the inside of his ribs.

It was dark now, the night shrouded the city. Rain was still drenching the roofs and making the cobblestones shine in the weak light of gas streetlamps. Alfred was alone on the street; the citizens all hid safely inside, behind the doors and windows closed tightly to keep the damp cold out.

He looked up, towards the tall spires of the Ward, and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Gilbert was probably - _done_. Sleeping, maybe? Curled up to his lover who governed all layers of reality. All the Saints were there, too, safe and warm, and unconcerned about their own places in the grand scheme of things.

And it was only him, alone and filled with regret, that couldn't make himself forget that what he was... well, that he was simply too much.

_“I did not show it to you to make you miserable.”_

He looked up and met the mismatched eyes gazing at him warmly.

“ _I want you two to stop acting like strange cats around one another._ ” The God said. “ _You’re both mine, isn't that enough?_ ” 

Alfred pulled himself to his feet, dismissing the sick feeling in his stomach that any sort of motion brought on. It was unseemly to sit in front of a God like some beggar or worse. Neither was doubting his Lord’s good will.

Ah, he was smaller again, barely reaching Alfred’s shoulder.

“What height are you in reality?” He could not stop the question from coming out of his lips.

The God shrugged, frail and human-looking, but more solid than the usual shadowy outline. “ _Which reality do we speak of?_ ”

Alfred swallowed. “Is it because I like you… like this?”

A half-smile. “ _Maybe I like to look up when I look at you?_ ”

 _Oh_. He didn’t consider that option.

A thin hand smelling of ozone touched his face and he almost melted against it. _“This is a very attractive angle for you_ ,” the Hunter said, cradling his fingers through the sideburns. “ _I don’t keep you here for your skills only, after all._ ”

“Am I here to serve as a decoration?” Alfred quipped.

“ _Maybe_. _You are nice to look at._ ”

The shout that shook the air startled Alfred momentarily. Manly voice, but made high and shrill with fear – the terrified cadence of it sent a pleased shiver up is spine.

_“Ah, yes, this one is rather lively.”_

Alfred looked down, at his clothes that weren’t the nicely cut suit anymore, but a heavy garb made of leather and thick cotton. There was a sword at his hip and a pistol at the other - he opened it to count the bullets. When he lifted his head back up the streets were narrower and shrouded in fog, the rain beat heavily on the empty houses with windows and doors boarded up. The sky above the desolate city was pulled over with a foreboding purplish haze.

“Only three?” Alfred complained, snapping the pistol closed. He could already hear the distorted barking echoing in the distance around even more screams. “It’s not much.”

_“I’ve killed bigger game with less. Use them wisely and you will be entertained enough.”_

He could feel the teeth in his mouth sharpen and grow when he smiled at the encouragement. “Do I have to know what the unfortunate wretch did?” His eyesight sharpened and the gloomy darkness stopped being an issue.   

_“He brought us today’s… disturbance.”_

Alfred nodded in understanding. Courting other gods was not the smartest enterprise when the city already had one ruling it. Especially, since this God was jealous and always hungry.

“Well then, I will show him mercy in your stead,” Alfred swore, buckling his weapons, ready to start the new Hunt.

His Lord’s smile showed three rows of bloody teeth before the Hunter rose on his toes and kissed Alfred’s brow, blessing his flesh to serve its new sacred purpose. _“Do not rush, my glorious hound, I will send you the Sun when you’re needed back.”_

He disappeared then, just a cloud of smoke washed away by the rain. The nightmare of Yhanram opened its arms and Alfred fell into them with a howl on his lips.

 

 

 


End file.
